


Youth to Burn

by Immy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kidlock, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immy/pseuds/Immy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cherish every day of your youth, because one day you will grow up and all those wonderful times will be over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Youth to Burn

“Careful with his head, John!”

Mrs. Watson reached over and adjusted her son, making sure that the two-month-old child in his little arms was being properly held.

“Don’t worry, Carol,” Mrs. Holmes laughed. “He’s doing fine. Better than Mike.” They both glanced at the other young boy sitting on the sofa at the other end of the room.  He was too busy trying to ignore Harry, who was sitting on the floor pulling on his ankles, to hear his mother’s comment.

“John, this is William,” Mrs. Holmes leaned in close to the two boys and guided John’s hand to Sherlock’s. “I think you two are going to be very good friends.” The baby started up and John and blinked twice before beginning to suck on his index finger.

“Maggie, you said you were going to go with that other name. What was it?”

“Yes, he was going to be Sherlock. William Sherlock Scott, that’s what George and I finally decided on.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely name.”

“I think it’s stupid,” Mycroft sneered.

“Mycroft!”

Mrs. Watson chuckled.  “Don’t worry, Harriet was the same when John was born. He’s just looking for a bit of attention.”

“I’m still in the room!”

Mrs. Holmes sighed. “Yes, we are aware. Perhaps you could bring Harriet to the yard, show her the swing.”

Mycroft begrudgingly slid off his seat. He took Harry by the hand and dragged her to the outside.

“It’s a shame those two don’t get on,” Mrs. Watson sighed.

“It’s the age difference.  Perhaps it will be better with these two.”

“Yes, I’m sure they will get along just fine.” Mrs. Watson leaned over to the boys.  “What do you think, boys?”

“Shar-lick,” John babbled in response.  The baby responded with a giggle muffled by the finger in his mouth.

***

Sherlock scrambled up the tree in his backyard, screaming and laughing as he went.  He heard the branches shake under him as he climbed higher. Once he perched himself at a decent high, he glanced down at John, who was pulling himself up the branches below him.

They sat on the tree’s limb, waiting. The back door flew open and Mycroft came stomping into the yard. “Sherlock! You give me back my bloody book or I’ll burn all of your maps!”

“Why don’t you climb up here and get it?” Sherlock called back down. The two boys erupted into a fit of laughter and Mycroft stormed back to the house.

“I’m getting Mummy!” The door slammed shut and Mycroft was gone.

After a long while they stopped laughing and John started to look worried.  “Is he really going to burn you maps?”

“No, but he is going to get Mummy.  We gotta get down and hide the book.”

“Why?”

“Because we can’t give it back! All we can do is say we don’t have it, which we won’t, because Redbeard will.”

Sherlock climbed down the branches and landed on the ground. He waited for John to get down and they ran across the yard to where Redbeard was chained to the dog house his Father built.

As soon as they got within sight of the dog, Redbeard was on his feet, jumping around. “Good boy,” Sherlock said lovingly and hugged the great dog.  “Now, take the book, boy. Take it.” Sherlock dropped the book on the ground and pointed at it.

Redbeard sniffed the book, then Sherlock, then John, then the book again, then Sherlock again. “Redbeard, take the book.” The dog picked up the book in it’s mouth and ran it to his dog house, dropped it inside along with a healthy amount of drool, and charged back to the boys.

“Good boy! Clever boy! Good job, Redbeard.” Sherlock jumped up. “Come on, John. We have to hide too.”

***

Sherlock passed the flashlight to John, telling him to point it at the window. In the new light, Sherlock carefully pushed the window open exactly as he had practiced a million times. It did not creak or shudder, but quietly opened half way until Sherlock stopped it right before a spot he knew would squeak loud enough to stir his brother next door.

Sherlock hopped onto the window ledge and John gasped. “Be careful!” he said in a worried whisper. “Don’t fall!”

“I’m not going to fall, but you will if you don’t pay close attention and follow right behind me.”  Sherlock turned back to the window and heard John gulp audibly. “Now, the branch is only about a foot away and at my tummy level. Just jump and wrap your body around it, then get up and sit on it.”

“O-okay. Are you sure we’ll be safe?”

“No time for questions, John. We have to be back here in two hours. Mummy always gets up to go to the loo between two and three, and she’s gonna peek in to check on us on her way back to bed.”

Sherlock crouched on the sill and took a deep breath. He held his arms out and pushed off the window, jumping high in the air and landing with a thud on the branch. John gasped loudly. Sherlock scrambled to get a good grip and lift himself up onto the branch. He sat on it and scooted over a few feet.

“Your turn, John.”

John took a deep breath and tried very hard not to look down while climbing onto the window sill. He looked at Sherlock, who frowned at him as to tell him to hurry up and jump already.

“You’re shaking, John. Are you frightened?”

John scowled. “I’m not frightened. I’m never frightened.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not!” In a fit of defiance, John jumped from the sill, grabbed onto the branch and climbed up beside Sherlock. “See! I’m not scared.”

Sherlock smiled and laughed. “I know. Now, come on.” They climbed down the tree and stalked quietly to the back of the yard - being careful not to wake Redbeard - where there was a wide open space beside the garden shed. Sherlock opened the shed and dragged out a large piece of cardboard and wood pirate ship made for two (and a dog, if they sat closely).  The boys pushed it into the clearing and climbed in, putting on the little paper hats they had crafted.

“Hoist the sail, Watson!”

“Aye, aye, Captain Holmes.”

John picked up a meter ruler with a piece of black cloth tied to it and leaned it against the inside of the boat.

“Set our course East.”

John stared at his friend.

Sherlock sighed and pointed up.  “See those stars up there? The line of three.”

“Um, yeah.” John craned his neck a bit and then laid down on the floor of the boat. Sherlock came down and lay beside him, pointing at the sky.

“That’s Orion’s Belt. It points to the East. All good pirates know that.”

“Oh. Why don’t we just use a compass?”

“What if we don’t have a compass?”

“Oh,” John repeated.

They laid in silence, watching the stars and moon above them, the tree branches just barely peeking into their peripheral vision. The night was framed by the cardboard ship, blocking off their view of the house and the yard. All the two boys could see was the clear night sky.

“Sherlock?”

“Yeah?”

“Will we have a real ship one day?”

“Of course. This one won’t survive an ocean storm. When we’re big, we’ll get a great ship and sail around the world…”

“…finding treasure…”

“…and new places…”

“…and helping people!” John giggled.

“Pirates don’t help people, John! They steal their money and make them walk the plank.”

“Even the nice people?”

“Well, no. We’ll spare the nice people. But not the mean ones. They walk the plank.”

“What if I were a bad guy? Would you make me walk the plank?”

Sherlock paused before answering. “No. We’re pirates, so we’re bad anyway. And I know you’re not a bad guy.”

“I don’t want to hurt people. Could we be nice pirates?”

“Nice pirates don’t exist, John.”

“They could,” John said hopefully.

“Um, no. They would not be pirates if they were nice,” Sherlock responded firmly.

“Oh. Alright.” John yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Bad pirates then.”

“John, we should go back in.”

“Hm? No, just a few more minutes.”

“We’re gonna fall asleep and Mummy will find us and be really cross.”

John did not answer. He was fast asleep with his head turned slightly into Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock did not want to wake him. He did not want to make John upset. The last thing he thought before drifting off to sleep beside the older boy was that perhaps the lecture from his mother would be worth it.

***

“Sherlock, how do you know so many things?”

“Because I’m clever.”

“Cleverer than parents?”

“Much cleverer.”

“Whoa.”

***

“Hello?”

“John?”

“Hello, Sherlock!”

“John, Redbeard’s sick.”

“Oh, like when we got the chicken pox? Does he have to put that pink stuff on his skin.”

“No, really sick. Mycroft said he’s going to die.”

“What?!”

“Mycroft is always right.”

“Not if he’s lying. Maybe he’ll get better.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Do you want to come over? We could play pirates or make a card for Redbeard like when Erica Bedford broke her arm because you made her fall off the...”

“No, Father and I are taking Redbeard to the doctor.”

“Alright. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

***

Two days after Redbeard died, there was a massive thunder storm and the power went out. While his parents searched the house for candles and flashlights, Sherlock slipped outside. It was dark, despite it being only slightly past noon, and the rain made it hard to walk or see. Everything had a strange blue glow to it.

He stomped through the yard and threw the shed doors open and dragged out the cardboard ship.  He pulled it into his usual place and watched as the brown paint started to smudge. The cardboard started to soak and bend and warp.

Then Sherlock helped it, giving it sharp kicks and ripping it in any way he could. He screamed with every blow and tear. He refused to believe he was crying. He pretended it was just the horrible rain.

His father found him sitting in the destroyed hull of the ship with his head buried in his knees.  He picked his son up and carried him inside without a word, holding him close and doing Sherlock the favour of also pretending that his tears were really just the horrible rain.

***

John sat quietly at the end of Sherlock’s bed, watching him while Sherlock watched out the window. Sherlock tapped his finger absently on the glass, watching grey clouds between the branches.

“We could still play pirates,” John suggested. “Without a ship. We could make your couch a ship, like we do at my house.”

“John…”

“Or we could look for treasure.”

“John, I…”

“You could tell me more about how pirates use stars and the sky and stuff.”

“Stars are useless!” Sherlock yelled.

“Not for pirates. You said so.”

“Well we’re not pirates, John! We’re never going to be!” Sherlock spun around to glare at his friend. He looked hurt. Sherlock did not like it, but he did not care enough to stop. “We can’t be pirates. We’re kids.”

“You sound like Mycroft. That’s what he said.”

“He’s never wrong!”

“You always say your brother is dumb and mean.” John looked around and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I wanna go home.”

“But you just got here.”

“I wanna go home. I wanna call my mum.”

Sherlock opened his mouth, then closed it, then stormed out of the room. John followed him into the sitting room where Mrs. Holmes was sitting on the couch reading. Sherlock curled up in a chair across from her and said nothing.

Mrs. Holmes looked between the two of them before deciding to address John first. “What do you boys need?”

“I need to call my mum to pick me up.”

Mrs. Holmes clicked her tongue at them. “Sherlock, are you playing nice.” Sherlock did not answer, so she turned to John with her eyes brows raised. John looked around, trying not to look guilty, even though he knew he was not guilty of anything. Sherlock’s mother had this look that could make anyone feel like confessing all their sins in fear that The Stare would continue to bare down on them.

Mrs. Holmes smiled sadly and stood up.  “Alright, John, come on to the kitchen and we’ll call your mother.”

  


Sherlock and John played a variety of other games in their youth, but playing pirates became something that was never mention or suggested again.

***

“Sherlock, love, you’re looking glum. Do you want to invite John over?”

“John’s at Kyle Matthew’s house.”

“Is that a boy in your class?”

“How should I know?”

Mrs. Holmes sighed. “Maybe next weekend he’ll be free. I’ll make shepherd's pie and you could have him round.”

Sherlock did not answer.

***

“You’re lucky you don’t have to grow up, Sherlock,” were the last words Mycroft said to his brother before moving out. Sherlock still strongly disagrees with whatever point Mycroft was trying to make with this statement.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a horrible amount of time to write. Just a heads up - there will be ~~~sex~~~ but not for a few chapters. Thanks to Lina (aggressivelytwerkinganderson on tumblr) for editing and revising and telling me a bunch of useful stuff I did not know about early child hood development. xx Thanks for reading!


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